He’d offered Evan everything he had—his heart on a silver platter complete with a little sprig of parsley and an I love you. And she’d turned tail anyway.
He stared at the ceiling, the hazy light of dawn shifting across and changing shades as the sun rose higher and peeked through the parted curtains. The jet-engine blast of the hotel’s air conditioner offered an ear-numbing soundtrack to his warring thoughts. What the fuck was he supposed to do now?
Every ounce of caveman in him demanded that he get his ass out of bed and go after her. Track her down and cuff her to him until she agreed to give him another chance. Show her he could make her happy. But he’d made the mistake of chasing a woman who didn’t really want him. Once.
He wasn’t going to have his nuts handed to him again. He’d pursued Diana until she’d given in. She’d played his ego with PhD level expertise—an intricate dance that had hypnotized Jace into believing that he was the only man for her. The only one who could take care of her the way she needed. She’d exploited his need to feel capable, the need to prove he could be someone’s hero and not just the family screw up.
Looking back, he could see how manipulative and unstable she’d been. His divorce attorney had called Diana a borderline personality—needy, attention-seeking, emotionally destructive. But Jace had fallen in love and stumbled right into the snare she’d set out for him. He’d spent the marriage like a lovesick idiot trying to be Mr. Ultimate Husband. She’d spent it emptying his bank account and fucking the guy she really wanted.
Never would he let himself be humiliated like that again. If Evan thought her designer imposter relationship with Dr. Dan was what would make her happy, then so be it. Jace was done campaigning otherwise. Evan had proven the mantra he’d been preaching for the last five years. He was just a good time, a fun lay, not anyone’s superhero.
And the first rule in life: Stick to what you’re good at.
Now it’d be even easier to do that. Because whatever hope for love that had survived after his divorce had officially snuck out of his hotel room without even leaving a note.
* * *
Evan sat in the lobby area of The Ranch, fastening and unfastening the clasp of her watch, the rhythm of the repeated clicking like a metronome for her frayed nerves. Breathe in. Breath out. Don’t think. Don’t feel.
She’d driven away from the hotel with no idea where she was headed, simply knowing that she couldn’t stay there and she couldn’t go home. Wherever home was anyway. Suddenly she felt like the last “home” she’d had was when her mother was alive. Everywhere else she’d lived after that, she’d been an outsider. A burden in some cases. An accessory in others.
Her car had found its way to the interstate heading out of the city without much conscious guidance from her. She had no idea if The Ranch was the kind of place you could drop into without a reservation, but it was worth a try. At least here she could hole away in some cabin and fall apart without an audience.
The front desk attendant had been nice enough when Evan had dragged her bloodshot self through the front door, her suitcase trailing after her like an I-have-no-place-to-go banner. But she’d also noticed the way the man’s eyes had assessed her wrinkled clothes, her hastily finger-combed hair. She probably looked like she should be checking into rehab instead of a resort.Author: Roni Loren
He’d directed her to wait in one of the cowhide upholstered chairs, then had disappeared behind a large mahogany door that seemed to scream do not effing enter. That had been a solid ten minutes ago. Now she was beginning to wonder if he was coming back at all. Maybe she should just go. Find some roadside motel.
But the grit scraping her eyeballs every time she blinked reminded her that if she got back on the road, her car would probably end up with a tree for a hood ornament.
The door opened finally and instead of the front desk guy, Grant Waters stepped through. He was in his standard-issue Wranglers and had a plaid work shirt thrown over a wifebeater, but his dark wavy hair was clearly bed-rumpled and he had flip-flops on instead of his usual boots.
“Ms. Kennedy,” he said in an East Texas drawl that could probably inspire the panties off a nun. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Hell,” she said, getting up to meet him halfway. “I didn’t know he was going pull you out of bed. I’m so sorry.”
“Not a problem, I was in the military. I can handle an early-morning wake-up call. Especially for one of my members.” Instead of taking her hand, he placed a knuckle beneath her chin, tilted her face up to him, and evaluated her expression like a parent trying to catch a child in a lie. “Camden said he thought you could be on something, but that’s obviously not the case. What’s going on, darlin’? Who put that lost look in your eye?”
She stepped away from his touch, his all-too-knowing gaze. “I just need a place to stay. Is there any room tonight?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and peered down at her, his fingers drumming against his bicep. “We don’t actually. There’s a big collaring ceremony this weekend. Multiple couples participating. So we’re booked through the next few days.”
His answer landed like a sack of rocks on her shoulders, making her bones feel like they might snap beneath the weight of all she’d dealt with today. “Oh. I see.”
“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he said, sounding truly apologetic.
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have assumed anyway.” She reached for the handle of her suitcase. “I’ll just drive a little farther and find a motel. No big deal.”
She attempted to lift her suitcase and barely got it off the floor. The bag seemed to be filled with bricks, even though she knew there were only a few changes of clothes in it. Grant caught sight of her struggle and reached down, placing his hand over hers on the handle. “Wait.”
She released the bag and straightened. “What’s wrong?”
He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze seeming to tunnel into her, unzipping her casing and peering inside. Instinct told her to look away, look down, look anywhere but at him, but the stare held her as captive as Andre’s handcuffs would’ve.
Finally, he broke the eye contact and hefted her suitcase with ease. “You’ll stay with me. You’re tired.”
She blinked, then his suggestion registered. Oh, shit. The Dom with a capital D commanding her to stay with him? Did that mean . . . ? “What? Oh, no, I couldn’t. I can’t—”
“You will,” he said as if he were Supreme Master Ruler of the Universe. “I’m not letting you get on the road and risk killing yourself or someone else.”